6.8

Maggiormente laughed. "These dreamy thoughts as you have called them are precisely the location from which my fuel source has come."

Fabien shook his head. "Dreams!"

"Indeed – everything that exists now was once imagined, as the master wrote."

Adèle asked, "Who is this master you speak of? Your teacher?"

The alchemist held his wine glass aloft. "Mr William Blake of England. A poet, an artist, a visionary."

The baker poured out more wine for them all. "I have not heard of him."

Maggiormente struck his chest with an open hand. "That is the true tragedy!" He sighed with regret while Eduardo lay down on the bakery floor. The lion knew this could take a while so he rested his head on his paws and folded his wings neatly across his back.

"It's a sad and painful story. Genius seldom finds its reward in its own time."

"This is true," Fabien admitted.

"Especially if one is a woman," Adèle added.

Her husband grabbed her hand and kissed it. "You are magnificent. I know your genius. You make every day a wonder."

"Je t'aime, mon cher."

The alchemist looked at the two of them with bemusement. "The master, Mr William Blake, conceived of entire worlds and wrote and drew them. He saw angels in his garden and created pictures of exquisite beauty that also explained his vision."

"He is your role model."

"Yes, in so many ways."

"An alchemist," Adèle suggested.

"Only with thought," Maggiormente said, "and words. Not in the classical sense of alchemy, but the magic he wrote with just letters and spaces – ah! Such magic."

"A poet, that is a good thing." Fabien nodded as he sipped his wine.

"A poet and so much more," Maggiormente held his wine aloft and squinted into the distance he could only see. "'To see the world in a grain of sand, and to see heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hands, and eternity in an hour.' That is the gift he gives us: to know the magic of vision of what has not yet been."

"But such imaginings can fall into idleness, too."

The alchemist waved away his friend's words. "Blake spoke not in idleness and fancy, but in deadly seriousness about our gifts." He gestured around the bakery.

"To have the ability to make such glorious pastries and breads and to deny the world your work, that the master would scorn. To avoid the work one was born to carry out – to make, to create! – this too he would disparage. As he wrote so long ago, 'I must create a system or be enslaved by another man's; I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.' And his business it was, too, to share the voices of the angels beyond comprehension."

"Angels, bah!" Fabien said. "More irrationality."

"I think angels are pretty," Brigitte said. "They have wings like Eduardo."

Her father laughed. "Eduardo, to be sure, is no angel!"

Maggiorments leaned forward. "Where does genius come from? When it comes, it does not seem to come from within. To call this source god or angels, does it matter? Angels to some, demons to others, we might say, for genius does not always fit itself to human values."

"What is wrong with saying it comes from our own little heads?" Fabien tapped the table with his forefinger. "We conjure with our brains, not angels."

"Our brains are filled by the wisdom of the ages, by those who came before, by those who know so much more. When an idea comes, it comes as a gift from the whole of your life."

"But from my own brain."

Maggiormente threw his hands up. "There are those who believe they owe no one. And those who know they owe everyone."

"But I give you credit for your discoveries," Fabien said, raising his glass to the alchemist.

"You are kind, my friend," Magggiormente said, "but I give credit to the masters who have taught me so much and lighted my path and even you my friend, who force me to articulate the truths I know."

Kit Marlowe also has a six sentence blurb up over at Wombat's World today. 

6.7

 "Eduardo's help," the alchemist continued, "comes from the ineffable."

"Where is that?" Fabien asked. "Near Napoli?"

"No, no," Maggiormente laughed. "From beyond our ken."

"Ken? I don't know him," the baker said, frowning as his wife chuckled.

"Mon cher, he means that Eduardo connects him to the ether, to the great beyond." She smiled down at Eduardo. "Is that not true, mon petit?"

The lion drew himself up to his full height and flapped his wings lightly. "Precisely. I am a mystic connection."

Both he and the alchemist seemed taken aback when Fabien laughed at this. "Ah, monsieur, you do not believe in these fairy stories, do you? I am a rationalist."

Maggiormente raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "What is irrational about the ineffable?"

Fabien chortled. "My friend, the very concept is irrational. Give me what I can taste, touch and see."

"That's a very limited outlook," the alchemist said, tutting.

"Limited!"

"D'accord. The master has shown the way once again. He says this vegetable world is but a mere shadow of the real and eternal one."

"Ah, but monsieur, there is no world beyond this one." The baker held aloft his glass of wine. "This is real." He took a sip. "The taste on my tongue, the kiss of the grape—that is tangible."

Maggiormente warmed to his topic. "That, mon ami, is certainly true, but only part of the story. You taste the sun and the hillsides, too. The rain of spring and the winds of the summer bring their flavours to the grape."

"Indeed, monsieur," Adèle said, elbowing her spouse. "It cannot be denied."

The alchemist held his wine glass up to the light. "All that is here and so much more. The seedling that became the vine. The earth that caressed its roots. The men and women who tended the rows. The air that they all breathed in and out, night and day."

Fabien waved his hand as if to dismiss the words. "But these are every bit as real as the wine in my glass." He swirled the red liquid before him.

Adèle shook her head. "You are so limited in these opinions my dear."

"I was not raised to see fairies at the bottom of the garden like you," the baker said, laying a hand on top of his wife's.

"More's the pity," she said, laughing as this was an old topic between them.

"I believe in fairies," Brigitte said as she bounced up and down in her chair.

Her father laughed. "You are allowed your fancies, my little treasure. For now anyway."

"And when she is older…?"

The baker sighed. "We all have to face reality."

It was Maggiormente's turn to tut. "Reality! Over-rated. Incomplete."

"But our only certainty." Fabien took a sip as if to punctuate his point.

The alchemist pointed at his Venetian lion. "And before we came to Paris, what might you have said about the 'reality' of a Venetian lion?"

Eduardo ruffled his wings. "I am very real."

"That is not my point," Maggiormente soothed.

"And having seen a Venetian lion," Fabien said a little tartly, "I know him to be genuine. Unusual, perhaps, but genuine."

"But would you have imagined such a thing?"

Fabien shrugged. "Does it matter? I believe in what I see."

"You do now, but would you have before?"

"Perhaps not."

"So what you believe now, you might have doubted before." Maggiormente shook his finger at his friend. "This is what it means to trust in the ineffable."

"Ah, monsieur," Fabien said, shaking his head with amusement. "You have twisted me around to your dreamy point of view. But how do such musings result in a fuel source for your motor? I must admit to having my doubts."

6.6

 "Wine?" Maggiormente rubbed his beard.

"We cannot discuss philosophy without wine," Fabien said. His shrugged as if were impossible to debate the point.

"Ah, but there's this motor to consider." Maggiormente said, patting the motor which sat on the table before him.

Eduardo looked up from his plate, a smear of chocolate across his muzzle. "There will be time enough for the motor later. A little contemplation and discussion first will put you in the correct frame of mind to delve into its mysteries."

"And more cake!" Brigitte crowed.

"I do not think we need more cake," the alchemist said frowning at his familiar. Eduardo licked the plate, which no longer contained evidence of the cake that had been served upon it. Plenty of chocolate crumbs and pink icing remained on the lion's face.

"I think we may safely say that the cake has been eaten."

Eduardo looked up. "There's no more cake?"

"There is no more cake for you." Maggiormente wagged a finger at the lion, who growled and shook his mane.

"I am full anyway," Eduardo said, sitting down on his haunches to begin grooming himself. He folded his wings demurely as he started licking his paw.

"Never mind, mes amis," Fabien said, returning with a bottle of red wine already unstoppered. "We have other matters to discuss."

"Oh, Alain, let the poor man get to his work!" Adèle tutted, as she picked up Eduardo's plate.

"Nooo!" Brigitte threw her arms around the lion's neck, starling him once again. "Don't make them leave!"

"Ma petite," her mother scolded, "Monsieur Maggiormente and Eduardo have important work to do. You cannot keep them from their endeavours."

"We're not in that much of a hurry," Eduardo admitted, struggling ever so gently to free himself from Brigitte's grip.

"You cannot go yet" Fabien said, grabbing a few glasses. "I have already opened the wine. We must drink."  He began pouring out the wine and handing glasses out. His wife shook her head at him, but accepted the offered stem.

The alchemist took the wine but hesitated before sitting at the table with his friends. Maggiormente found himself impatient to get to work at the compound that he would test inside the motor, but there was also a doubt niggling at the back of his mind.

There is something I have forgotten.

But what could it be?

"Tell us more, Maggiormente," Fabien said after sipping his wine and nodding approval. "What's this business about airships?"

The alchemist clapped his hands together with delight. "The procedure may be a bit complicated…"

"Give us the highlights," Adèle urged, lifting Brigitte up on to her lap.

"I am the most important part of the process," Eduardo said. Without a chair to sit on, he decided to rest his chin on the edge of the table and pout. "Essential."

Maggiormente laughed. "Indeed, my friend, you are."

"He never does anything but eat," Brigitte said, looking severely at the pouting lion. "He eats everything."

"That's not all I do," Eduardo said with a noisy huff of breath. "I inspire."

"It's true," the alchemist affirmed.

"Does he help with the alchemy?" Fabien's brow furrowed. "Can he carry beakers?"

"No, nothing like that."

"I might be able to carry beakers," Eduardo muttered, returning to grooming his whiskers with one paw, licking the chocolate cake crumbs from it.

Adèle laughed. "I would not want to see him try to carry glassware." Brigitte leaned over from her lap to pat the lion's head. Apart from the ruffling of his wings, he did not seem to mind the continued attention.

"I would not expect it of him. The compounds can be rather powerful smelling and it would hurt his sensitive nose to have to inhale them too closely. So, that is not how he usually helps." Maggiormente paused.

Detained by Wolves in Dundee

Your humble narrator begs your indulgence for forgoing a chapter this week as she has been beset by growling beasts in Scotland. She expects to effect an escape soon and return to the safety of Ireland.

6.5

"Would you like to stop for some cake?" Fabien asked as they walked back toward the house.

"Yes," Eduardo said, provoking excited squeals from Brigitte. The truth of the matter was that the Venetian lion generally always found himself ready to stop for cake, whether any was on offer or not.

Brigitte simply enjoyed anything that involved Eduardo—and she likewise found the idea of cake exciting despite being the child of a baker. One might expect that familiarity might breed contempt, but clearly that had not happened to this girl.

"I don't think we should," Maggiormente said with a frown. With the motor acquired all his thoughts leaped ahead to the use he could make of it. "There is so much to be done."

"But cakes, " Eduardo argued. "We need cakes."

"You ate this morning," the alchemist scolded him. "Don't be greedy."

"Oh come now, it is afternoon already," Fabien said, throwing his weight behind the clear majority. "A little sustenance before you return to your labours cannot be bad, eh?"

The alchemist chafed at the delay. However, he was not without some sympathy for his friend and his familiar. "I suppose a little cake and some coffee would not be a bad thing."

His acquiescence inspired cheers from the other three who immediately dragged him through the door of the bakery. The inviting interior welcomed them. The heat from the oven created a good portion of the warmth, but it wasn't the only source.

"There you are!" Madame Fabien gave her husband a look of mock severity. "I had begun to wonder if you had run off with the boulangereuse."

Fabien leaned across the counter to greet his wife with an enthusiastic kiss. "I thought better of it. I knew I couldn't last five minutes without you."

The alchemist looked away, embarrassed as he always did at these public displays of affection. I will never get used to Paris, he thought, shaking his head.

"Maman, maman!" Brigitte ran around the counter to hug her mother's legs tightly. "I rode on Eduardo's back and we flew all around the city."

"All around the city?" Adèle Fabien raised an eyebrow at her daughter. "I am wondering if that is in fact true at all."

"It is not," Eduardo said, peering at the selection of baked goods with quite focused attention. When it came to cakes, Eduardo exhibited a rather unexpected earnestness.

It is true that cakes are a very serious matter.

"Brigitte, you are exaggerating again." Her mother shook her head and tousled the girl's hair. "You mustn't exaggerate so much."

Brigitte folded her arms and frowned. "I imagined it."

"Exactly, ma cherie."

"If I imagined it, it could be real."

"There is some logic to that," Maggiormente said.

The others stared at him. Fabien laughed. Adèle said, "Is there, monsieur? I must admit I cannot see the logic."

"Can I have that cake?" Eduardo said, pointing at one covered in pink icing.

Adèle moved over with her knife poised. "You want a piece of this one?"

"Piece?" The lion blinked.

The baker laughed and brought the plate out for him.

"The logic," Maggiorment continued, noticing that no one had listened to his comment, "is the same one that animates my work."

"I am an alchemist?" Brigitte looked up with delighted surprise, flakes of her pan au chocolat scattered across her frock.

Maggiormente chuckled. "You are like an alchemist to be."

Brigitte considered this. "I am pleased. How am I so? I do not make things explode."

"One need not explode things," Maggiormente said, accepting a croissant from Adèle. "It is like the master wrote, 'What is now proved was once only imagined.' That is the true alchemy."

"This seems like philosophy," Fabien said frowning.

"Perhaps a little," Maggiormente admitted.

"That calls for wine!" Fabien and Eduardo cheered.

6.4

The alchemist raised an eyebrow, afraid what new question he would have to face next. Obtaining a motor had been far more difficult than he had anticipated. "What is it monsieur?"

Delon looked him up and down before he asked with a grim expression, "You swear you are not an anarchist?"

Maggiormente clapped his hands together. He did not mind the question, although it seemed his countrymen were unfairly maligned with this charge. "Monsieur, I swear on the life of my mother and all the she holds holy that I am not an anarchist."

Delon looked at Fabien, who nodded. "You cannot be too careful, monsieur. There are many strange ideas in the world at present."

"Indeed," the alchemist agreed, though he had no idea to what the mechanic might be referring. When it came to politics, the alchemist was a bit like a child. His opinions tended toward fairness, respect and all freedom for alchemical experimentation.

"As long as you are not an anarchist planning to create chaos with your explosions, I am willing to sell this motor to you," Delon said. He clapped the alchemist on the shoulder. "I would not want to have such a thing on my conscience."

"Nor I."

Fabien nodded agreement. "I have known M. Maggiormente for some weeks now and I can say he and Eduardo are most agreeable and only dangerous by accident."

Eduardo snorted. "I am dangerous on purpose."

The alchemist frowned at his familiar. "Yes, on purpose, but not often."

"And not to most people," Fabien agreed.

Eduardo raised his head a little higher. "I am selective."

"Indeed." Maggiormente was eager to change the subject before Eduardo began boasting of his exploits. "This motor will offer a great chance to develop—"

"I once killed a duke," Eduardo began.

"Not a duke," the alchemist corrected.

"What is it he was then? Something like a duke."

"He was an alderman."

Eduardo sniffed.

"And he didn't die. He was rather frightened though." Brigitte crowed from the lion's back and bounced up and down as if delighted with the thought of startling a minor official.

"The pigeons did not survive."

"That is true. So, monsieur, the price?" Maggiormente and Delon haggled amiably for a bit and at last agreed on a mutually satisfying amount and exchanged francs for the motor.

"Well, what will you attach it to?" Delon asked as the alchemist tucked the motor under his arm.

Maggiormente stared. "Attach it to?"

"Yes, to test it you'll need to attach it to something."

"But I do not need to propel anything, just to see how the motor works."

"And what? Hold it in your hand while you fire it up?" Delon and Fabien both laughed, as much at Maggiormente's puzzled expression as at his failure to see the issues at hand. "Monsieur, the motor will get very hot as it works."

"Ah," the alchemist said, enlightened.

"You could attach it to Mme. Gabor," Eduardo suggested. This provoked even more laughter, but Maggiormente did not join in.

"You are only making things worse, Eduardo." He frowned.

Delon disappeared into the depths of the garage once more and returned with a short wooden plank. "Let's see if we can attach the motor to this. It will offer some stability."

The mechanic and the alchemist bent over the plank and in a few minutes the motor had been secured to the wood.

"Eccellente! Now we shall go try it out."

Delon shook his hand. "Now, no explosions, monsieur."

"I shall endeavour," Maggiormente said with grave solemnity. "I think we are nearly there. To perfection!"

6.3

"What sort of motor, monsieur?" Delon asked, hands open as if to suggest the wide world of possibilities that the word 'motor' conjured.

"A small one," Fabien and Eduardo said in unison. The baker slapped the lion on his back in a matey sort of way, which surprised the alchemist's familiar enough that he jumped a little. The child on his back shrieked with delight.

"More, more!" Brigitte cried.

Eduardo ignored this plea. "A motor resistant to explosion would be a plus."

Delon raised an eyebrow and looked from the alchemist to his lion. "May one ask what the motor will be used for?"

"Experimentation," Maggiormente said with evident enthusiasm.

Delon looked at Fabien. "Experimentation? He's not an anarchist, is he?"

The alchemist looked confused. "Anarchist? No, no, monsieur. I am an alchemist."

Delon frowned. "Is that some kind of a political struggle?"

"Magical," Fabien said.

"No, no, no," Maggiormente corrected. "Experimentation, science—I am working on a new fuel compound from alchemical reactions that will provide motors with greater propulsion than coal."

Delon looked impressed. "Such a thing would be welcomed by many."

"You would think," Maggiormente said. "Nevertheless, people seem reluctant to experiment with alchemical combinations."

"It must be the explosions," Fabien said, elbowing the alchemist, who did not appear to be amused.

"Explosions are rare," he said, frowning with disapproval.

"Only one this week," Eduardo agreed.

"Only one," Delon said. He exchanged a glance with Fabien.

"It was a very small explosion," Eduardo admitted.

"With a motor, we will be able to refine the process to avoid any further explosions," Maggiormente said. "The process has been theoretical up to this point. I desire to have this fuel perfected in time for the Exposition."

"It comes upon us," Delon said, looking thoughtful.

"Indeed. Thus my haste."

"What do you hope to power? Trains?"

Maggioremente smiled seraphically. "Ah, no—even better: airships! That is the secret you see."

"Secret?" Delon and Fabien exchanged another look. "Is it secret?"

"Oh, pardon my French," Maggiormente said, slapping his forehead. "I am not expressing myself quite right. The genius—is that what I mean?—the genius is to distill a fuel powerful enough and yet also very light, so it can fuel airships for long journeys."

Delon nodded his head, considering the idea. "That would change the machines for sure. Genius, yes, perhaps that is the word."

"Flying, bah!" Fabien laughed. "You couldn't get me up in one of those things. We were not mean to be like birds—your Leonardo not withstanding." The bake clapped the alchemist's back companionably. "What is it you always say, Eduardo? Flying, it's for the birds!"

Eduardo growled. "I have never said that."

"But it is true, ne c'est pas?"

"I have only said that it is undignified." Eduardo lifted his chin high, the picture of dignity—apart from the braids in his mane and the small child bouncing up and down on his back.

"So do you have a motor that might suit this?" Maggiormente asked.

Delon nodded. "I have a small motor that once ran a water pump at the linen factory near here. It wore out from constant use, but I have been restoring it."

Maggiormente rubbed his hands together. "That sounds ideal. How much?"

Delon sighed. "That is a very good question. There is the work I have put into it and the new parts it required, but there is also a very important question to ask you."